


Dribbles McKay

by sheafrotherdon



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-11-09
Updated: 2007-11-09
Packaged: 2017-10-11 23:32:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/118370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheafrotherdon/pseuds/sheafrotherdon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rodney gets gnawed on by babies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dribbles McKay

"Um, hi?" Rodney says, looking up at the imposing figure of a young Dii'nitra mother. "Lovely . . ." He waves a hand and glances at the baby she's holding out toward him. "Child?"

The woman says something so rapidly that despite the best efforts of the Ancients' translation technology, Rodney can't keep up. He blinks and tries to look obliging – he has the vague impression she might be about to kick his ass.

The baby waves a fist at him and giggles.

"Nice baby," he mumbles, peering around the young woman to look for the rest of his team.

"Take," the young woman says more forcefully, and thrusts the child into Rodney's arms.

"I – what?" he asks, sitting down heavily on the padded bench behind him, the baby clutched gracelessly against his chest. "Hey - _hey_ ," he says as the woman walks away. "You can't just leave your . . . oh no . . ." More people are approaching, each with a young child, and people are stooping, shaking out blankets, setting down their babies all around Rodney's feet. "You can't just – " He adjusts his hold on the first child and tries not to think about whether it's sanitary to let a baby gnaw on the shoulder of his tac vest. "I'm not a babysitter!"

Yet it appears that's exactly what he is. There are babies everywhere, some fast asleep, swaddled in blankets, others crawling over to poke at his boots. There's an almost-toddler hauling herself up against Rodney's leg, sticky fist buried in the fabric of his pants, free hand beating against his thigh as she grins at him happily. Someone's crying, but he can't see who, and when the baby in his arms starts to grumble, he bounces him without thinking, almost relieved when the child sets his cheek against Rodney's damp shoulder and lets out a tired little sigh. "No one go anywhere!" Rodney says to the room of children. "And no one set yourself on fire, okay? Those are the rules! Rules are important!"

Somebody burps like a trucker in response, and a strange smell drifts up from the floor to Rodney's left. Rodney's not really sure if the two are related.

For the next two hours, Rodney's alone with the children. His radio doesn't seem to work – or at least none of his team is answering, and he'd be afraid of all the grisly ends they might have come to if not for the fact that he has a baby in each arm and three toddlers hanging from his pants as he stands and he's swaying to soothe the crying babies in his arms with the hope they'll become sleeping babies like the ones on the floor. Someone brings him bottles after an hour, but escapes before he can plea effectively for help, and after that it's nothing but chaos, trying to feed as many babies as he can, milk going everywhere, someone always crying, and someone else always making smells.

By the time John appears, Rodney's lying on the floor, babies crawling all over him, one fast asleep on his chest. There's spit up on both his shoulders and a little in his hair, and someone's gnawing gummily at his hand, and John looks like he's thinking about laughing but Rodney's too tired to care. "Help me?" he murmurs pitifully.

"Looks like you did great," John grins, stopping to pick up babies and transfer them to blankets until Rodney's child-free and can stand. "Thanks. Helped out a lot."

"What?" Rodney asks weakly "What did?"

"You offering to run the daycare."

Rodney looks at him as though he's grown a second head. "I was – I was running . . . huh?"

"You know, as part of the trade negotiations?"

Rodney squints at him, then leans in and smacks him up the back of the head. A baby claps delightedly. "How big a moron are you to leave _me_ with kids?" he asks, incredulous.

John smirks and shrugs, looking for all the world like he's found out a secret. "You did great," he says again, and Rodney would smack him one more time, but it'd take more energy than he has.

"I need to go home, now," Rodney pleads, just as the first of the Dii'nitra parents begin to drift in. "I need to shower and sleep a lot and eat a sandwich and then sleep some more. Please?"

John grins at him, ducking his head, then nods his agreement. "First I think – "

The young mother who started everything interrupts. "Thank you," she says, smiling as she pats Rodney's arm. Her son chews on his fist and smiles at Rodney, then leans forward with his lips puckered up. "He asks for a kiss," the mother explains.

Rodney pulled a face. "Um – I . . . no that's quite alright, I . . . "

But the mother's already adjusting her stance, offering her son, and the little boy smacks Rodney's cheek with a great deal of gusto and spit.

Rodney blushes a little as the baby grins and squeals. "Well. Thank you," he says, studying his boots. "He's very . . . dribbly."

The woman laughs and leaves, and John thankfully grabs him by the sleeve and drags him from the room and the babies and the smells and Rodney bashfully rubs his cheek and blushes a little more.


End file.
